The leaves rustle on the trees
As subtle gusts of spring
Blow out the last of embers
From upon my bed.
The arbitrary clouds of dusk,
So feather-like and soft,
Inadvertently cover your fiery wake
As you disappear behind my city-scape horizon.
I wish that I could hold you as my own,
To cage you deep within my loving heart.
But that is what ignited me in the first place,
Your freedom, or were those your stray sparks of grace.
In perpetual flames, my dreams are of you
And of bright nights and fire-play.
For when you soar, my heart does too.
Alas! Without your wings it plummets.
My mortal bird of flame
By morning, just a pile of ash.
And I'm a pile of tears, awaiting night.